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Authors: Stephen Palmer
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decided not to make themselves known to the populace, particularly as there seemed to be a number of bodies in trees with smouldering tyres around their necks.
"We are come to an evil place," Gmoulaye said. "It is struggling with itself, killing its own children. That is a bad thing."
Msavitar agreed. "The reports I read said it was one of the handful of countries in the world that had no Aetheria. They deny the existence of local Aetheria, even the Aetherium, and all power is vested in local rulers who pay tribute to the plutocrats of Grosser-Tech-Plc."
"How far away is Manga?" asked Nshalla.
Msavitar whistled at his screen. "Three days at least."
"Then we'd better find a campsite."
Nshalla found herself irritated with Msavitar and his ever ready transputers. She decided that tonight they would all be stolen by a troupe of baboons.
Gmoulaye took them to a valley where they struck camp at the bottom, amidst the rounded stones of a seasonal river. Nshalla gave herself last watch. Leaving her dozing companions, she climbed to the rim of the valley to peer north. Somewhere out there was Mnada. Possibly she herself had not made Muezzinland. Possibly she was quite close. Nshalla pondered on this as she watched shadows across the plain, the shadows of herds of game, of aether aerials, and, higher up, of bat swarms. Somewhere in the distance she saw a red glow; the twin exhausts of a methane-burning car.
For a few seconds she had a surreal vision of Mnada hitching lifts in exotic Eurasian vehicles, making north, ever north.
The next day they tramped in silence through twisted shrubs. The savanna was deserted. Above them a pair of hopeful vultures circled. Used to sea breezes, Nshalla found the heat intolerable, but she was pleased to see Msavitar glaring at every monkey he saw.
They made Manga next evening. It was a sleepy village with one inn, and there Nshalla again tried to rid herself of Msavitar. "Without your transputers there's not a lot you can do," she said. "You'd better go back to Ashanti."
He pondered long on this. "Not yet," he decided. "You still require assistance, gracious ladies, and I can still earn lovely cowries. It is making a living after a fashion, you will agree?"
Nshalla just grunted.
"In fact, let us reckon our account up to today."
Eventually, after much haggling, it was decided that he had earned sixteen cowries. He accepted a bank-to-bank virtual draft.
Next day's walk took them to Toece, a town of goat and cattle herders. Toece was the capital of a tiny country, the State of Old Liberal Toece, a wart on the skin of Burkina Sude, but a happy place where there seemed plenty to eat and enough to drink, enjoyed by a population obsessed with gaming. Some of these were from distant countries, attracted by the rumour of the village: Songhay people from Gourma-Rharous Town, Hausa from KatsinaUrban, and even a card-sharp from Monrovia in Liberia. Nshalla spent some time asking if anybody had heard of Muezzinland, but that night she went to bed disappointed, not a speck of information garnered.
They pressed on. Arriving at Kambissiri on the following evening, they slept outside the town because of gang strife.
Ouagadougou lay two days away. They walked on through the suffocating heat. Food stocks were low. Gmoulaye gathered dani and gansi, wild cereals taken as a last resort, and made an acceptable porridge, adding a few cowpeas, some rehydrated beans and cashew nuts from a tumbledown tree. They ate, then dozed. In Toece, Gmoulaye had bought a raft zither made of bamboo, and a small loungar, or talking drum, and these she played as the moon and the stars wheeled overhead.
Evening of the next day found them outside Ouagadougou. Nshalla looked down upon the great unnatural forest. Gmoulaye shivered and vowed not to enter such a place. But when she was left alone, she followed.
Chapter 5
Ouagadougou, one time centre of the old Mossi state of Ouagadougou, now capital of the remains of Burkina Faso,
"We are come to an evil place," Gmoulaye said. "It is struggling with itself, killing its own children. That is a bad thing."
Msavitar agreed. "The reports I read said it was one of the handful of countries in the world that had no Aetheria. They deny the existence of local Aetheria, even the Aetherium, and all power is vested in local rulers who pay tribute to the plutocrats of Grosser-Tech-Plc."
"How far away is Manga?" asked Nshalla.
Msavitar whistled at his screen. "Three days at least."
"Then we'd better find a campsite."
Nshalla found herself irritated with Msavitar and his ever ready transputers. She decided that tonight they would all be stolen by a troupe of baboons.
Gmoulaye took them to a valley where they struck camp at the bottom, amidst the rounded stones of a seasonal river. Nshalla gave herself last watch. Leaving her dozing companions, she climbed to the rim of the valley to peer north. Somewhere out there was Mnada. Possibly she herself had not made Muezzinland. Possibly she was quite close. Nshalla pondered on this as she watched shadows across the plain, the shadows of herds of game, of aether aerials, and, higher up, of bat swarms. Somewhere in the distance she saw a red glow; the twin exhausts of a methane-burning car.
For a few seconds she had a surreal vision of Mnada hitching lifts in exotic Eurasian vehicles, making north, ever north.
The next day they tramped in silence through twisted shrubs. The savanna was deserted. Above them a pair of hopeful vultures circled. Used to sea breezes, Nshalla found the heat intolerable, but she was pleased to see Msavitar glaring at every monkey he saw.
They made Manga next evening. It was a sleepy village with one inn, and there Nshalla again tried to rid herself of Msavitar. "Without your transputers there's not a lot you can do," she said. "You'd better go back to Ashanti."
He pondered long on this. "Not yet," he decided. "You still require assistance, gracious ladies, and I can still earn lovely cowries. It is making a living after a fashion, you will agree?"
Nshalla just grunted.
"In fact, let us reckon our account up to today."
Eventually, after much haggling, it was decided that he had earned sixteen cowries. He accepted a bank-to-bank virtual draft.
Next day's walk took them to Toece, a town of goat and cattle herders. Toece was the capital of a tiny country, the State of Old Liberal Toece, a wart on the skin of Burkina Sude, but a happy place where there seemed plenty to eat and enough to drink, enjoyed by a population obsessed with gaming. Some of these were from distant countries, attracted by the rumour of the village: Songhay people from Gourma-Rharous Town, Hausa from KatsinaUrban, and even a card-sharp from Monrovia in Liberia. Nshalla spent some time asking if anybody had heard of Muezzinland, but that night she went to bed disappointed, not a speck of information garnered.
They pressed on. Arriving at Kambissiri on the following evening, they slept outside the town because of gang strife.
Ouagadougou lay two days away. They walked on through the suffocating heat. Food stocks were low. Gmoulaye gathered dani and gansi, wild cereals taken as a last resort, and made an acceptable porridge, adding a few cowpeas, some rehydrated beans and cashew nuts from a tumbledown tree. They ate, then dozed. In Toece, Gmoulaye had bought a raft zither made of bamboo, and a small loungar, or talking drum, and these she played as the moon and the stars wheeled overhead.
Evening of the next day found them outside Ouagadougou. Nshalla looked down upon the great unnatural forest. Gmoulaye shivered and vowed not to enter such a place. But when she was left alone, she followed.
Chapter 5
Ouagadougou, one time centre of the old Mossi state of Ouagadougou, now capital of the remains of Burkina Faso,
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